The Final Battle
by ficscribbler
Summary: The final battle for the future of the Plateau has begun; the Protector and the Chosen One are determined to win once and for all, but at what price?
1. Chapter 1

Summary: _The final battle for the future of the Plateau has begun; the Protector and the Chosen One are determined to win once and for all, but at what price?_

Disclaimer: _The Lost World_ does not belong to me. *_Regretful sigh_* It belongs to _Coote/Hayes, The Over the Hill Gang, New Line Television_, et al, …

Author's Note: This story is set toward the end of the fourth season. It includes spoilers for multiple episodes of the first three seasons as well as J&G's generously provided _TLW Summary_.

_**The Final Battle, Part I **_

_**Wherein there is a battle for the future of the plateau…**_

A runner came crashing through the underbrush, weaving around the tree trunks but returning unerringly to his course, uncaring of the noise as he approached the site of the siege. Indeed, he wanted to draw attention to himself. Impatient to declare the news he carried, he didn't wait to make a formal report to his leader on the front lines. As soon as he was within earshot of his comrades he shouted, "It is done! The Chosen One is coming! It is done! The Chosen One is coming!"

Closer and closer he raced, and the warriors nearest his approach turned from their efforts to break into the compound around the massive tree. Their distraction was noticed by the others encircling the fence, and a momentary silence fell.

"It is done! The Chosen One is coming!"

As his message was discerned, the men broke into raucous cheers that spread like a wave, fists raised in triumph, swords, knives, and cudgels thrust over their heads.

Up in the treehouse that nestled amongst the lower branches of the ancient tree at the center of the compound, Veronica could neither see nor hear the messenger from her position on the balcony, but the gleeful crowing of her enemies made her heart sink. No! That sound meant reinforcements of some kind. She was already feeling the strain of the effort it was taking to channel the energy lines of the plateau through her Trion into the translucent shield that held the men back. How could she exert more energy than she already was? The weary blonde wasn't sure she had enough strength to support the shield against the assault of even more enemies, not while retaining the reserves she held for the opportunity to take the offensive. She had eluded them by the skin of her teeth five hours earlier, barely making it inside the electric fence in time to utilize the location's energy convergence to call forth her defenses.

The attacking force had tried every hand weapon possible against the golden-hued shield, including the Xan-controlled Triad's oriental-styled weaponry. But although Veronica felt the pricks where their blows impacted against the shield, they had not found anything that could break through the barrier – until now. From the sound of their cheers, they thought they'd found the answer. What would it be this time?

Hordred, the son of the man who had murdered Veronica's father thirteen years ago, had tried to vanquish Veronica more than once since she'd fought and killed Mordren. The new leader of the dark line had caught her away from the treehouse half a dozen times over the last few months, as he had today, seeking to cut her off from the nexus of the Plateau's power lines. During their previous encounters, Mordren's heir had exhibited skill at using the various mystic artifacts that abounded on the Plateau… but she'd seen no such weapon yet today. She'd been watching for it, expecting something more – they had to know they couldn't fight the Trion's power with mere human force – and from their cheers, another of the Plateau's never-ending mythical weapons was about to be produced. She braced herself. But then the messenger drew close enough for her to make out his words, and the battle-bruised blonde smirked.

The Chosen One – they meant Marguerite, of course. The treehouse family had garnered a lot of information about the roles of both the Protector and the Chosen One over these last harrowing months, and Veronica now understood the excitement of her attackers. But they were about to be disappointed, because the Chosen One had already decided to side with the Protector, not the dark line. If Marguerite was coming, Roxton would be with her and possibly the other two men as well. All four of them had left together this morning, but they'd intended to part ways near the river to continue on to their separate tasks. Marguerite and Roxton planned to mine some salt to replenish the dwindling supply in the pantry, while Challenger and Malone had been headed toward the children's arboreal village to do their semi-annual check on the youngsters' progress.

They should have journeyed too far from the treehouse to have heard the noise of the battle when she'd been attacked today. Veronica wondered what had alerted them to turn back before they were due to return. Roxton may have noticed tracks left by the extraordinarily large group of Hordred's followers as they gathered for today's siege on the treehouse. Or perhaps Marguerite had experienced another of her eerie premonitions.

Whatever the reason, she was thankful that help was on the way.

Of course, it would be best if Challenger and Malone were still with them, but even if it was only Marguerite and Roxton, they'd be welcome additions to the fight. When the dark haired couple arrived, it wouldn't be long until the three of them taught these Chaos-loving usurpers that the Plateau wasn't safe for the likes of them! The blonde huntress had been watching for just such an opportunity to switch the use of the power at her command from defensive to offensive, and the arrival of her housemates would be exactly what she needed to turn the tide in her favor.

"Look at her – she thinks the Chosen One will side with her!" jeered Mordren's son, crossing his arms over his broad, powerful torso and laughing as he looked up at her. "But she will soon learn that we have had the upper hand all along!"

Veronica ignored him. She'd learned, all right. She'd learned that the dark line was expert at twisting truth, at playing on the fears and weaknesses of their victims. She'd learned that doubt can poison you, can give your enemy just the one second of lowered defenses that they needed to turn a battle to their own advantage. But she'd also learned, over the past four years, to trust Marguerite Krux. Although she'd kept it well-hidden for most of that time, beneath the beautiful brunette's stony exterior was a true and noble heart.

Certainly there had been times when a past generation's Chosen One had used her abilities to steal the victory away from the Protectors, allowing Mordren's line the ability to unbalance the creative force, to create chaos for their own profit. They were still close enough to the start of the current cycle of creation that the balance of good and evil could be tilted in their direction. According to the instruction she'd received from Avalon, the scales were particularly vulnerable to manipulation for another full moon before this cycle settled into a pattern that would remain stable until the next creation cycle. And since Marguerite was the Chosen One, the person linked to both lines, the one with the power to tip the scales of balance in either direction, Hordred needed her.

But unlike her ancestor Morrighan, Marguerite would never side with her distant cousins from the 'dark side'. Perhaps she might have been tempted to join them four years ago, if they'd offered her the knowledge of her real identity, or given her the riches she'd once sought for her own security – although knowing what she now knew about Marguerite's work during the Great War, Veronica thought that Mordren couldn't have convinced the brilliant brunette to help them even if they'd promised to reward her with every single one of her heart's desires. The wily former triple agent was too aware of the evil nature of the men that plotted to usurp Veronica's role as guardian of the balance of good and evil.

No, even years ago Marguerite wouldn't have helped those who would seize the power of the Plateau and use it to enslave the world. Hadn't she closed the doorway to the tunnels off the Plateau once she'd learned from Catherine Reilly that going through would doom the entire world to a plague that would ravage humanity for generations to come? Walking through that doorway would have been a surefire route to the wealth she'd coveted, but the beautiful and then-mysterious Miss Krux had refused to take that path. Instead, she'd shut down the device and then allowed Roxton to permanently close the doorway to the tunnels that could have taken them off the Plateau, not willing for so many others to pay such a cost.

And that had been back in the early days, when Marguerite thought she was facing the world all alone and couldn't trust anyone else. She knew differently now. Thanks to Roxton's ex-wife, she knew her birthright had been stolen from her, but that she'd once had parents who loved and wanted her. She might not have the proof to lay claim to her real name, and she would probably never be able to reunite with the family from whom she'd been taken as an infant, but they'd learned enough during their recent contact with Avalon to know that not only was Marguerite distantly related to Mordren's line, but also to the Protector's line.

Marguerite's lips had twisted into a dismayed grimace at the revelation that she was a distant cousin to the man who had murdered Veronica's father. "It figures I'd be related to _that_!" she'd sighed in disgust. At the discovery that she was also Veronica's cousin, she had brightened considerably… but had feared that her connection with Mordren's line would damage the slow-growing relationship built between herself and the fiery Protector.

The jungle-born blonde had dealt quickly with her friend's obvious concern that the news of their kinship wouldn't be well received; she'd enveloped the older woman in an enthusiastic hug and gushed, "No wonder we've always fought like sisters! We practically are!" Much to the men's amused approval, her words had proved prophetic, and the pair had grown as close as sisters during their time exploring their histories and their unique gifts over the last months.

Moreover, Marguerite and Roxton were so much in love that the formerly-restless beauty was a picture of contentment these days. Well… as contented as the feisty heiress was every likely to be, at any rate. She could still be prickly on occasion, still hated mornings with a passion, and was still outwardly acerbic… but her mercurial temper and her tendency to provoke others for her own amusement had almost disappeared. Since the individual trials they had all endured when the shifting planes of reality had separated them during the renewal of the creation cycle, Marguerite had publically accepted and returned Roxton's devotion. She was even openly, if shyly, affectionate to her "adopted family", as she wryly labeled her housemates these days.

No, Veronica had nothing to fear from Marguerite. Hordred was in for a shock if he thought otherwise.

Veronica kept the shield up around the perimeter, invisible but for the slight shimmering effect , protecting the treehouse and its intersecting lines of energy from the encircling black-armor-clad warriors. They'd ambushed her in the garden this time, and it had been a fierce struggle to reach the fenced compound, where she'd been able to draw on the power of the nexus to drive them back. This was the first time they'd caught her without the others, and if she hadn't made it back here… but she had. All she needed to do was focus and maintain her mental discipline until Marguerite and Roxton arrived. Then they'd see who would be laughing at whom.

"No, don't relax the assault," Hordred ordered as some of his men eased off on their battering of her psychic barrier. "The more we wear her down, the quicker the victory when the Chosen One joins us!" He didn't bother to lower his voice; he wanted the Protector to know he had no mercy.

Veronica braced herself and held the shield firm against the renewed assault, thankful for the mental and physical discipline of all the training she had undertaken in the last few months. With the encouragement of her housemates and instruction from the elders of Avalon, she'd learned to wield the powers of the Protector's Trion, but this was the first time she'd faced a full frontal attack alone, or indeed, endured a battle with such numbers or of such prolonged length.

A flicker of movement caught her eye.

It was Marguerite, striding into view through the forest from the direction of the Summerlee River, where that runner had come from a few minutes ago.

And she was alone. Alone? Veronica frowned with sudden trepidation. The dark-haired couple had been inseparable since Challenger had figured out how to retrieve Roxton from the past while he simultaneously dispatched Captain Roxton, Lord Roxton's pretender, back to his own time. Once reunited, John and Marguerite had barely left one another's sight. Why was she alone now, especially with so many of the enemy out in plain sight?

Hordred laughed with satisfaction when he saw the shield flicker. The Protector had sensed her danger at last! "Our time has come, my brethren!" he shouted. "Ready yourselves!"

Uneasily, Veronica noted that Marguerite wasn't surprised to see the warriors surrounding their home of the last four years. The former Great War triple agent didn't falter or slow down, just maintained her quick, steady march through the forest toward the treehouse, unfazed at the sight of some of the very same men she'd fought at Veronica's side half a dozen times already. She strode on as if she was confident that these men would not harm her. Marguerite, the most distrusting, cynical and suspicious person the blonde had ever met, wasn't even drawing her handgun at the sight of known enemies? This was so wrong!

Where was Roxton?

Veronica's blue eyes scanned Marguerite's back trail, then the jungle around them. Was the hunter sneaking up on their enemies from another direction while his lady played decoy?

If so, then he was certainly waiting until the last minute.

Veronica felt a particularly threatening series of blows, and refocused on the wavering shield. She had to trust her friends; it was essential to devote her main attention to defending the source of the Plateau's power. Still, her gaze strayed to the advent of the Chosen One.

Marguerite, stiff-backed, pale and tightlipped, reached the dark line's rear guard, still without touching her weapons. She refused to look directly at the men who smirked at her as she neared, and she ignored their cat-calls and laughter. "We've been waiting for you, Chosen One!" "What took you so long?" "Now we'll finish this." "It's about time you joined us, Chosen One."

Veronica shivered; although their words heralded the arrival of an ally, their attitude toward that supposed comrade-in-arms was mocking and derisive. They clearly believed Marguerite was on the side of those who held that Chaos should rule, yet they also jeered at her? It made no sense to the blonde observing the interaction from her balcony.

Ominously, the brunette accepted their insulting tone without a single retort. Equally disturbing to her watchful friend, she didn't hesitate to step into their midst; the men parted to allow her to pass, and she stalked on, looking neither to the left nor to the right as they continued to sneer.

When she arrived at the compound perimeter, the banter of Hordred's men eased off as they stared in anticipation. They braced themselves, and a few ducked for cover as if they expected some kind of explosion. But Marguerite didn't hesitate outside Veronica's shield; she simply reached into the shimmering gold aura, opened the gate, and walked right in. The barrier yielded to her, where it hadn't for the men – Veronica's doing; it was something the two women had practiced for exactly this type of occasion, although they had expected Marguerite to be running for shelter from their enemies, not walking calmly through their unholy ranks.

The men closest to where the brunette penetrated the shield instantly tried to follow her through, but found the barrier as intractable as it had been for the last five hours. There were a few moments of disorder as the ranks shifted and men howled in pain at their futile contact with the shield, but Hordred quickly called everyone back into formation. Marguerite moved stiffly further into the compound, ignoring the men until she drew even with Hordred himself.

As she stopped moving, the men quieted again. She briefly bowed her head, and then she looked sideways at the warriors who were watching her so expectantly from the far side of the still-shielded fence.

"What are you waiting for?" demanded Hordred hoarsely, eyes narrowed as he glared at the dark-haired woman whose smoldering green eyes focused directly on him. His chin tilted arrogantly upward, his hands on his hips, his stance utterly confident, and once again he didn't bother to lower his voice, wanting his words to be fully audible to Veronica up on the balcony. "You're in! Take her down! You know what will happen if you don't!"

His words caused a renewed round of spiteful, cruel laughter that sent new shivers of foreboding up Veronica's spine. She realized that every last man down there was aware of something she wasn't, although she had the horrid feeling that she now suspected what it might be. If she was right, this could be ugly… very, _very_ ugly. She caught her breath and held it, more than half expecting the mercurial Marguerite to strike out at their enemies any second.

Apparently, the leader of the dark line anticipated the same possibility. Veronica saw Hordred's face twist in a snarl as the brunette remained motionless. "Watch yourself!" he snapped at Marguerite, apparently not liking the look she was giving him – a look which Veronica could well imagine, if her suspicion was correct that there were more of his men somewhere else, threatening harm to Roxton. With a sneer, the leader of the dark line added, "If you care nothing for the name and riches you've sought all your life, remember that pitiful lordling of yours!"

For the briefest moment, Marguerite's slim shoulders hunched as if he'd struck her. But then her head lifted again, and her back stiffened in determination. She swung on her heel and marched on toward the elevator. "Veronica, I'm coming up," she called, her voice strangely strangled.

Without hesitation, Veronica allowed the elevator to descend, in the same practiced way she'd weakened the shield to allow Marguerite to pass safely through. If Marguerite was going to turn traitor, she wanted the brunette to have to tell her face to face. If it was as bad as it sounded, and Hordred had Roxton in his clutches,… well, as Ned liked to say, this might be an entirely new ball game.

Marguerite had been granted so little love in her life, who could blame her if she chose to fight her sister to save the man she loved? But until Marguerite struck the first blow, Veronica would hold fast to her faith in her best friend.

She turned to face the opening as the elevator rose, careful to maintain her mental discipline over the shield even as the lift came to a stop and she had her first good look at the other woman.

There were bruises on Marguerite's face and arms, several ragged slashes on her blouse and skirt where she'd suffered near misses in hand-to-hand combat, and even a few traces of blood where she'd been nicked… not favorable evidence. Concerned for her friend's well-being, Veronica took came in off the balcony. "Marguerite?"

The slender brunette stepped off the bamboo cage and raised a shaking hand to remove her hat, then seemed to sag. The black hat fell from her fingers; she staggered, barely caught herself, and then stumbled to the bared floorboards where Veronica's mother had painted those arrows so many years ago to teach her daughter where "home" was, where "safe" was. With a moan, she dropped to her knees there, head hanging, body shaking, her hat forgotten on the floor behind her, only her pale hands and shaking arms braced against the floor keeping her from collapsing altogether.

"Marguerite!" With several quick steps, the blonde was near enough to lay a gentle, concerned hand on the visibly trembling silk-clad shoulder. Despite her compassionate concern for her friend, the Protector still held the shield in place, even when the Chosen One raised a now tear-drenched countenance and revealed tortured green eyes and an expression of such misery that there could be no other further doubt. "They have Roxton?" Veronica whispered, aghast.

Marguerite nodded, unable to speak as she battled her heartbreak.

"George and Ned are out there," Veronica said firmly, swallowing hard. "They'll find him. They'll help him."

The brunette shook her head, tears falling faster. Sobs wracked her as she sank lower onto the floor and curled into herself, wrapping her arms around her knees.

Veronica stood helplessly. This was the unthinkable, the one possibility they'd never dared discuss. A threat against Roxton was the only thing that might make Marguerite turn against her. How could the fiercely-loyal woman possibly condemn the man she loved more than her own life? Still, Veronica knew Marguerite well enough by now to know that the choice wouldn't be that simple. If the Chosen One helped Hordred, she could save Roxton, but she might never be able to forgive herself for betraying her "sister" and unleashing the dark line on the world. And if she saved him at such a cost, would either of them ever overcome the regret? And if she didn't save him – how would she get over the grief and guilt?

Which of these no-win situations would Marguerite choose?

The young blonde closed her eyes, willing herself to control both her rising terror at what this might mean for the entire world, and her increasing rage at these people who would use such cold-blooded tactics to manipulate Marguerite into doing their bidding.

Holding her temper with effort, she gritted her teeth and said, "Marguerite, you know we've overcome all kinds of dangers, faced death a hundred times. The men are out there, making a plan, working their way through this, just like we're doing here." There was no sign that this encouraged her sister-friend, which incited a whole new realm of worry. This was a woman who had learned to trust her companions, just as she'd learned to love John Roxton. If she was acting like there was no hope… Veronica hesitated, and her voice cracked just a little as she forced out the words, dreading the answer. "What happened? Where…? Have you seen the others?"

Marguerite visibly fought to regain some semblance of her usual composure.

Veronica waited, partly because she could see how difficult this was, and partly because she was afraid to push for an answer, concerned now for Ned and George as well as for John.

After several interminably long moments the brunette struggled to her knees again, her hands braced against the planks of the floor to steady herself. Head still hanging, her dark tangles falling in disarray around her face and hiding her expression, she found her voice, although it was raspy from her crying. "We… we were attacked. Separated." Veronica's hand returned to its place on her shoulder, both comforting and encouraging her. "There were too many of them, so many coming from every direction. They surged between us, drove Challenger and Malone one way, John and I another. The last time we saw them, George was d-down," She drew a shaky breath, still not looking up, all too aware of how Veronica would feel about what she had no choice but to tell her. "And Ned was standing over him, defending him… We couldn't get back to them. Hordred's men were pushing us further away. Veronica," she took another quick breath and blurted raggedly, "They hit us with so many men… none of us should have stood a chance. Of course they wanted me alive. The only reason Roxton isn't dead already is because they needed him to make me help them." This time her gulp for breath was deep and quavering. "But Hordred had no reason to spare the others. We heard the victory cries. We've already l-lost Challenger and M-Malone."

Swallowing hard herself at this confirmation of her suspicions, and knowing her friend was right that there was no mercy in any member of the dark line, Veronica forced herself to speak past the despair welling up in her heart. "Did I hear Hordred right? Did they offer you genuine evidence that you can use to reclaim your name? Do you believe that they'll give it to you and spare Roxton if you help them?" She extended a hand to help the other woman rise, wanting to show Marguerite that she understood, that she still accepted her… because it was the right thing to do, even if it made her vulnerable to Marguerite.

The Chosen One wiped her eyes on her sleeve, which Veronica noticed was already marred with blood from wounds that had been inflicted during her earlier battle with their enemies – her blood or Roxton's? – and accepted the Protector's hand to help her rise to her feet.

Once she was upright, Marguerite's swollen and reddened silver-green gaze met Veronica's sky-blue eyes steadily, honestly. "You have to hand it to them; they know my weaknesses, don't they? And they're going all out, offering everything I've ever wanted. Yes, they definitely promised me my birthright, my inheritance, and John. Of course when dealing with the immoral, there are no guarantees. They _might_ reward me. Then again, they might not. The odds of my gaining anything of substance would have been better if I'd helped them willingly." She drew one more deep breath, let go of her friend's hand and straightened, squaring her shoulders. Her eyes darkened, and her voice when she spoke next was firm and clear. "But since I don't intend to have any part in their scheme to loose chaos on the world, it's a moot question."

The young Protector's breath caught, and she had to blink to clear her vision of sudden relieved tears. She'd known, she'd clung to hope… but here was the proof positive. Veronica regarded her friend with mingled compassion and pride. "Marguerite… are you sure?"

"What, you _want_ me to kill you?"

The acerbic response was so classic-Marguerite that the blonde almost laughed. The devastation on the dark-haired woman's chalk-white face was all too real, though, so Veronica's amusement at her friend's words and familiar attitude faded without being expressed.

Despite her pallor, the Chosen One's voice was steady and filled with determination as she added, "Besides, do you think even a man of Lord Roxton's big-hearted loyalty could continue to love me if I betrayed not only my sister but the whole world just because his life was hanging in the balance?" She summoned the ghost of a smile. "We both know he'd want me to do the right thing, not throw the world into chaos just to save his life." She didn't bother to mention the dark line's promises to bestow upon her the documents she'd need to prove her identity and claim her family's estate; neither meant anything, compared to John. "I've always known that I only had him for a little while anyway. I knew all along that it was too good to last. If it hadn't been this, it would have been something else. Everyone I've ever loved has left me or been taken from me."

"I know the feeling."

Marguerite blinked back renewed tears, this time in sympathy for Veronica's grief instead of her own. Now it was she that reached out and gripped the younger woman's hands in a comforting squeeze. "It's not right, what keeps happening to us," she growled bitterly, then smiled grimly, a wrathful gleam growing in her now storm-grey eyes. "Isn't it too bad for them that you and I have the power to make them pay this time? So come on, Veronica: let's do this thing." She waved a hand toward the balcony around the treehouse, gesturing at the enemy that surrounded them and continued to hammer against Veronica's shimmering almost-invisible canopy.

Veronica's lips compressed in determination, but she hesitated, searching Marguerite's face. "Maybe there's another way? Something we haven't thought of yet?" They owed it to Roxton to at least try to come up with a way to save him, didn't they?

But Marguerite shook her head. "No. We've never talked about it, and I'm sure if you thought about it at all, you pushed it aside with the hope that it would never come to this, but it wasn't so long ago that I was no better than Hordred and his line, remember?" She waved off Veronica's instant protest; she might have had different motivations, but as Parsifal she'd been as ruthless as the dark line in pursuit of her goals. "I've known there was a good chance they'd hold Roxton hostage in exchange for my cooperation ever since we found out about me being the Chosen One. I've devoted far too many hours to thinking through a scenario like this, and I promise you that I've considered every possible option for saving John. Trust me; there's only one thing we can do. We have to _stop_ the dark line, right here, right now."

There wasn't a shadow of doubt in her tone or her expressive face, and Veronica, remembering that Marguerite was indeed intimately familiar with the depths to which the unscrupulous could sink, shivered. She'd seen no sign that the former triple agent had been considering a choice as dark and dreadful as this during the last few months. This was clearly another example of the wily woman keeping a secret to protect her companions from what she knew, bearing a burden alone to save the others from worry over something she'd known they could do nothing about.

Marguerite grimly and earnestly continued, "They've taken far too much from us for far too long, Veronica, and now that the moment is actually here, I'm in the mood to deal out a little justice of our own. In fact, I'm strongly of the opinion that we need to hit them so hard that they'll never be able to deprive anyone else of loved ones like they've taken our parents and our family. But it's not just about losing Arthur, Finn, and now George, Ned, and John, or the families we should've had while growing up. No one and nothing good in the world will be safe until is over, once and for all. Let's wipe the whole lot of them off the face of the earth."

Intrigued, Veronica nodded slowly. "I like it," she said. "But can we do it? We haven't prepared for anything on that scale." They'd practiced expanding the Trion's power by utilizing the life-energy Marguerite could draw forth, but they'd only worked on local applications, nothing involving longer distances.

Marguerite quirked a brow, her sudden grin utterly humorless. "The two of us, we're just the women for the job. After all, I'm the reincarnation of a Druid priestess who conjured a storm that destroyed the world, and you're the Protector of the Plateau, guardian of the origin and source of all life-giving energy. If we summon the power and use it right, we can keep your descendents and the world from facing a new generation of power-hungry fiends like those who've made a mess of our lives. Together, you and I have the ability to put an end to this madness once and for all. I'm ready, how about you?"

For a second longer they faced one another, hand in hand, allowing each other to see the deep-seated pain they were feeling, and drawing strength from one another. Then Veronica squared her own shoulders and nodded. "Let's do it."

Standing there at the nexus of the power lines, at the center of the white arrows Abigail Layton had painted on the treehouse floor all those years ago, the two women closed their eyes and concentrated. Wind began to swirl around them, and almost immediately Veronica felt the intense power that flowed from Marguerite as the dark-haired woman started to chant softly in the unfamiliar tongue of her ancestors' ancient language. The jungle-born blonde gathered the spiraling energy volume, and focused on creating and building a wave of combined justice and retribution to send through the Trion that was clasped between her palm and Marguerite's.

There was a tangible shift in the feel of the air around them, and golden light encompassed the two women.

Veronica could sense the exact second when the men below realized that the Chosen One had thrown in her lot with the Protector instead of with them, could feel their stunned disbelief that the woman they thought they controlled should selflessly discard the bribes they had offered, felt their anger that their manipulation of Marguerite's life had culminated so unexpectedly in failure, and winced at their hatred of the Protector's line, but her focus didn't waver as their enemies solidified the pressure of their attack against the shield she still almost instinctively maintained around the compound.

The women's joined power enabled Veronica to know precisely when it dawned on Hordred that he'd been overconfident that his capture of Lord Roxton would force Marguerite to do his bidding. He belatedly mustered all of his power and all of his men to bring them to bear in a desperate attempt to neutralize the combined power of the Protector and the Chosen One before it became insurmountable. Furiously, he directed all of his formidable abilities on killing the Protector and punishing the Chosen one before they could unleash a retaliatory blow against their mortal foes. His desperation caused a tenfold increase in the effects of his power and his men's strength, and he laughed in triumph. But even as the multitude's might slammed into the barrier, the leader of the dark side could see the golden light pulsing, growing, in the treehouse.

Infuriated, Hordred sent forth a psychic command to kill their prisoner. Veronica would have given anything to shield Marguerite from that knowledge, but because of their physical and emotional bond through the Trion, such a mercy was impossible. She felt the devastating loss that sheared through her friend at the knowledge that Lord Roxton's death sentence had been issued – her beloved was now dead! But the vindictive order was no more than the she'd expected, and she quashed her anguish and redoubled her focus on empowering the Protector against the dark line.

Veronica staggered back, almost breaking the link with the other woman when the unexpected, astonishingly infinite burst of energy surged forth from the Chosen One.

But Marguerite didn't lose hold of Veronica's hand or the Trion. Her solid stance enabled the younger woman to regain her balance. "Focus," she said simply, and even before Veronica adjusted to the new power level and had wholly re-centered her attention on their task, the golden light intensified under Marguerite's icy determination. All that Lord Roxton believed in, all that he had lived and died for, was threatened by the dark line. His lady threw herself into their effort to eradicate that threat of chaos, to defend the Plateau where she had found love for the only time in her life, to make certain that Veronica's children would never have to go through this. She concentrated every ounce of her considerable willpower on the survival of everything that Roxton represented, all that was good and right and true in the world, for now and forever, represented by the line of Protectors.

In that instant, Veronica realized that Hordred had sealed his fate the moment he threatened Lord John Richard Roxton; he'd misjudged the character forged in the Chosen One when she'd been forced to face everything the dark line had thrown at her in their attempt to turn her to their side. The masters of the dark line had read their own motivations and beliefs into Marguerite's tough mercenary façade, and underestimated the better nature that had dwelt deep inside her all along, as well as Roxton's influence on her life. Marguerite was true to the man she loved, even in this, the bitter end of their brief time together.

And in sudden exultation Veronica _knew_ that she and Marguerite could indeed stop the line of Mordren. With the power Marguerite was channeling, not only the Plateau but the world itself would be safe. The two women could deal the dark line such a blow today that it would be many generations before the cycle repeated itself again, if ever. The Trion's bearer smiled, albeit sadly for the loved ones they'd both lost, and then she firmly, with deadly accuracy, directed the super-abundant flow of energy outward. The shield dropped, replaced by the golden wave of light that poured forth from the pair in the treehouse, radiating outward in every direction.

Under the combined condemnation of the Protector and the Chosen One, Hordred and his men didn't simply die. That would've been too easy, too good for these adherents of the dark line who were directly responsible for the loss of the treehouse men. The warriors fell to the ground, writhing and screaming in agony as the purifying power literally purged them from the Plateau. They were consumed from within by heat so incendiary that the only remains of their bodies, clothes and weapons were small piles of ash.

Then the glowing pulse of energy spread like ripples across a pond, over the surface of the Lost World hidden on the plateau, seeking out and destroying every descendant of Mordren and his kin – with the exception of children whose hearts could be cleansed of the dark line's influence, a purification that was accomplished gently by the golden light, freeing them from the dark line's taint – overpowering every charm and spell that had been devised to withstand any onslaught of the Protectors, clearing the Plateau of every foothold that the forces of Chaos had managed to insinuate into the new cycle of life – but leaving all other living things unscathed.

And still the energy surged forth from Marguerite to Veronica and the Trion.

There seemed to be no limit to the power she drew forth from this central point of all the world's energy lines; magnified and directed by the Protector, the golden light streamed across hill and dale, glided over the mountains, dipped into the craggy canyons, and cascaded over the edges of the plateau, spreading across the world beyond and finding even in the outer world that plotted against the Protector and that over which she stood guard.

Aided by her unprecedented connection with Marguerite, Veronica could map its progress in her mind's eye. Time seemed suspended as she worked. Only once the rippling power covered land and sea from pole to pole around the globe, and the Protector was positive its full cleansing purpose had been accomplished, did Veronica began draw the beam inward again. She double-checked for any tendrils of the dark line as she drew the light back, ensuring that she hadn't missed any trace, until the power was fully retracted to its source, to the two women holding hands in the treehouse in the lost world at the heart of South America.

She guided the power back into its proper place with a nod of satisfaction, and opened her eyes. "We did it! It's done –"

With an exclamation of alarm, she caught Marguerite as the other woman collapsed. She sank to the floor with her friend in her arms. "Marguerite! _Marguerite!_" Only now did Veronica realize just how much of herself the Chosen One had given. Her skin was nearly translucent, her lips gray, her skin clammy and cold now that the power was no longer passing through her. She was barely breathing!

"No, Marguerite, don't you do this! John wouldn't want to you give up, he'd want you to live!" she protested, knowing instantly what was happening as she clutched the limp body against her breast. "Marguerite!" Veronica placed her trembling right hand over Marguerite's heart, laying the Trion directly against the fragile skin, and her brow furrowed as she concentrated on transferring warm, life-giving energy into the drained body that sagged against her.

The faint, uneven breathing seemed to steady a little, but the green eyes did not flutter open, and Veronica could see that the life force was not being absorbed.

With the horrible feeling that there was nothing she could do, she bowed her head and wept over this woman who had earned her love and devotion. "Marguerite, my sister, my friend, please, please, _please_ live…"

Desperate not to lose what might be her last living family member, she refused to give up; she tried over and over to share her warmth, her life-sustaining power. "John may be dead, but he'd have wanted you to live. And I still love you – I still need you. Please choose to live!" She kept talking, tears rolling down her cheeks unheeded, as she infused energy into Marguerite time and again, without making headway as her frail body continued to fail.

Five minutes passed, ten… fifteen…thirty… Her efforts were keeping Marguerite alive, but no more. She'd always wondered which of them was stronger willed, if it came right down to a contest between the two of them. It looked like she was going to find out, because she was determined to continue pouring strength into Marguerite until the older woman gave up and accepted it, no matter how long it took to brow-beat her back into living. She wouldn't accept any other alternative, even if Marguerite hated her afterwards.

The desperate blonde had no idea how much more time had passed when her attention was dragged away from her efforts to feed energy into the dying brunette. The sun was descending toward dusk, she saw. What had distracted her from her efforts to save Marguerite? She concentrated, and located the sound that had caught her subconscious attention; the elevator was descending in response to a signal from the ground. Someone had activated it.

"What now?" she growled, her head snapping up. She shifted into a defensive posture over her unconscious companion, and reached inward for still more reserves of power. What could be left for the fates to throw at them? Hadn't they faced enough today? Of course, that wouldn't matter to whatever remnant of the dark line was taking advantage of her preoccupation with Marguerite to come against them yet again.

Where could these enemies have hidden themselves? How could their purifying wave have missed anything? She'd been so sure they'd completely purged the earth of the filth of Mordren and his dark line!

By the time the bamboo cage had risen to the treehouse doorway again, the weary and grieving young blonde had erected a small domed shield that cupped the two women in safety, and she was warily braced to resume battle against whatever remnant of the dark line had somehow been overlooked.

But another fight wasn't necessary. The elevator's occupants emerged from the bamboo cage, battered and helping one another, but alive, and she lowered her defenses with a shriek of relief. "Ned, Challenger – oh my! _Roxton!_ Oh, Roxton! Marguerite!" she cried joyously, looking downward again, giving her friend a gentle shake as renewed hope bloomed in her heart. "He's alive! John's alive! You can't give up! John is here!"

"Marguerite!" the brunette's lover broke loose from the supporting arms of his friends and stumbled to Veronica's side. His initial alarm at his lady's lifeless appearance was abated by the realization that the blonde wouldn't be talking to her if she was dead, but her lack of response sent a shaft of terror through him. Unmindful of his own bruised and battered condition, he dropped to his knees and gathered the dark-haired beauty into his arms. His anxiety rose again as his first impression was confirmed: she was wholly limp and looked like death warmed over. He tenderly embraced her and scanned her body as he urgently repeated, "Marguerite!"

Relief washed over Veronica at the sight of the dark haired couple together again, against all odds. Roxton was here! Marguerite would be alright now; she would respond to him. She'd thought she'd run out of tears ages ago, but more streamed down her face as Veronica jumped to her feet and into Ned's arms. "We thought you were all dead!" she marveled, clinging to the journalist as if she would never let him go again. "Marguerite said you were overwhelmed by Hordred's men!"

Ned hugged her close, soothingly rubbing her back. "And so we might have been, if not for Challenger's quick thinking. He certainly lived up to his status as a genius today!" he praised their leader, smiling over her shoulder at the ginger-haired scientist who limped past them toward John and Marguerite.

Challenger waved off the words, his sky blue eyes focused on the other couple even as he said, "What I did was nothing compared to what was accomplished by that astounding light that passed through. Utterly fascinating! I assume that was you two women. But we can discuss it later – was Marguerite hurt during her efforts to get back to the treehouse?" Wincing at his aching joints, he lowered himself carefully to kneel beside Roxton so he could probe her limbs for whatever injuries had rendered Marguerite unconscious.

The nobleman looked up at the others, staring from one to another in bewilderment, having already searched for obvious wounds on his beloved's body. "There's not a mark on her other than the scratches and bruises from our earlier battle, before they took us prisoner."

Veronica turned in Ned's arms, her back pressed to his chest, her hands resting on his forearms where his arms crossed around her waist, and gravely answered their unspoken questions, her voice thick with weariness and sorrow. "Hordred and his men taunted her when she arrived, but they let her walk right past them without hurting her. They were so sure she would do what they demanded, but she fooled them. I don't think she hesitated for an instant," she proclaimed loyally, and then added thoughtfully, "Although there was a moment right after I let her through the shield when I thought she was going to take them on single-handed, she was so angry with Hordred. But she held her temper, and came up to join me so we could work together, just like we'd planned and practiced."

John looked down at his lady and smiled. "I knew she'd do the right thing," he said proudly.

"Of course she did," Challenger said brusquely. "No one who knows her could doubt it. But why is she unconscious? What did Hordred do to her?"

Quietly, still nestled safely in the circle of Ned's embrace, Veronica explained, "We both felt it when he gave the order to kill you, Roxton, and we were positive that you were dead in that same instant. Instead of breaking her, it seemed to make her more determined than ever to stop him. She gave me more power than I ever imagined she could summon, more than enough to cleanse the Plateau of its enemies. Before we started, Marguerite said we shouldn't just put a halt to their plans now, but should make sure the next generations will never have to face what we've faced. She never wavered from that goal, not even the moment Hordred ordered the execution. It was incredible how much energy she drew forth and channeled to me. It felt so right that I didn't think to question it, I just used it… but once the cleansing was complete, she…" She gestured to her still unmoving comrade. "I think she gave me her own strength, too, to make it possible to cover the entire world. I think she gave me way more of herself than she should have."

She briefly related how Marguerite had crumpled as soon as they'd finished. "I've been trying to restore her, but she won't accept the life-force."

"Restore her?" Challenger asked, looking up sharply. "So my hypothesis was correct that it was your power that healed the worst of our wounds while we were bathed in the golden aura?"

"Healed you?" Veronica repeated, blinking in surprise and renewed concern as she scanned the three men again. "You don't look healed," she frowned. There was blood streaked on all three men's clothes and skin, and they each had an abundance of bruises, cuts and abrasions.

"We were way more battered than we are now, before that golden light covered the plateau," Ned explained. "Among other things, I'd have sworn I had a broken arm, Challenger took a wicked blow to the head that opened the skin to the bone, and Roxton's ribs were definitely broken when we reached him. But between when the light covered us and when it faded away again, the most serious injuries we had… were just gone. It wasn't complete, but we're sure in better shape than we were before the light came. You didn't do that deliberately?"

She shook her head. "No, it must have been the Trion." Veronica opened her hand, the artifact still resting in her palm and still glowing.

"The Trion can restore life energy of its own volition?" Challenger frowned. This was a new aspect to its power, one that no one from Avalon had mentioned in any of their instruction.

"I don't know," Veronica shrugged, glancing down the symbol of her status as Protector. "One of the things we wanted to do was cleanse the effects of the dark line from the lives it touched, so maybe that's why you were healed. But I know I can deliberately use the Trion to channel life force. I don't know how I knew; it was just instinctive. And it worked. Well, sort of worked. I know it's kept Marguerite alive, because I can see how it steadies her breathing at least for a little while. But it's as if she's rejecting the healing… I'm afraid she's given up because…" her gaze flitted to Roxton. "…she thinks you're all dead."

"You think she doesn't want to live," Roxton said flatly, staring down at the woman he loved. He knew as well as the others did which man's death in particular would sap Marguerite's will to survive.

"Talk to her, man. Let her hear you," Challenger urged, ginger brows drawn together in concern as he reached over to take one wrist and check her thready pulse.

"She may be too far gone to recognize me," Roxton replied, fear thickening his voice to a harsh rasp. "She hasn't responded to either my voice or my touch so far." He gently rocked her in his arms, heartsick at her colorless complexion and fragile frame, so different from the vibrant woman he so loved.

Veronica tensed, and her gaze sharpened and focused on Marguerite again. Her brow creased as she saw that he was right. There'd been no improvement in her condition since Roxton had embraced her. How could that be possible? She'd been so certain that the brunette would improve as soon as she knew he was alive!

But Ned was shaking his head. "She probably hears you, Roxton, but she's going to take some convincing. She's never really believed the two of you would be together."

Roxton and Challenger's heads snapped toward him, and Veronica twisted in his arms to gape up at him in amazement. Malone blinked, startled and puzzled by their reaction to his simple statement. "What?"

Lord Roxton spoke up gruffly, brows drawn together in a frown. "What are you talking about? Marguerite can't possibly doubt that I love her!"

"No, I'm sure she knows you love her," he replied quickly, flushing. "That's not what I said. There's a difference between knowing someone loves you and believing that you can be together forever. I'm not sure she's ever believed that she's destined to have a happy future."

Veronica swallowed hard, recalling her conversation with Marguerite that very day. "She did say earlier that she'd always known she would only have you for a little while," she breathed, her heart going out anew to her friend. She could remember all too well how painful it had been to know she loved Ned and yet harbor doubts about whether he cared enough to stay with her here. It had taken a long time and multiple separations before she'd believed that the reporter meant it when he said he wouldn't leave her behind, that he'd always come home to her. And she hadn't anywhere near as many issues with abandonment as Marguerite. "She also said she knew it was too good to last, because everyone she's loved has either been taken from her or left her."

"Hmm. That would certainly support Ned's theory that she believes she's destined to lose you, John," Challenger agreed, brow furrowed.

Roxton frowned. "But I told her over and over –"

"Yeah, but it's not about whether you love her. It's a question of whether she believes she'll have the chance to live a life with you. Does she believe that God, or fate, or whatever, will allow her to have such happiness?" Ned reiterated. "I don't think she does, Roxton." When the hunter shook his head in disbelief, the younger man provided a specific example drawn from his observations of the other couple. "When you've talked about the future, has she been her usual opinionated self? Or has she made the occasional demure and just let you talk?"

A dozen recent conversations ran through his mind, and suddenly it was clear as day. Stricken, Roxton stared down at his lady. Ned was right. Why hadn't he suspected this before? He'd expected the knowledge that he loved her to provide her with the security she needed, and to open the door to the future he wanted with her. Of course he'd mostly used vague generalities when talking about their prospects together, to avoid pressuring his skittish lady, but she'd rarely responded with anything but excuses to avoid making any definite plans for their future. She'd always told him her life was too complicated beyond the Plateau to make commitments – as if they could face more dangerous or complex situations than here! He'd thought that little by little he'd overcome her hesitation to make future plans with him, just as he'd gradually won her heart. But Ned had seen the truth: she'd never stopped thinking that the other shoe was going to drop and she'd be alone again. She'd thought that "today" was all she could hope to have.

She'd actually said as much to him when they'd been talking on the balcony one night, months before she'd finally admitted she loved him, too. He hadn't interpreted it that way at the time, of course, when she'd told him she sometimes wondered if there was anything else she could possibly ask for, given what they shared here and now. They'd been standing in the very same place where she'd once told him her soul was a little the worse for wear, and she'd been astounded when he'd said he'd always keep her straight – not just because "always" was beyond her experience as he'd thought then, but because it was beyond her expectations. The evidence of her outlook had been there even in their earliest days on the plateau, when she'd labeled herself the evil stepsister… a fairytale character, but one who never had a happily ever after.

He'd taken at face value her diligence at working toward a secure future, so fascinated with unmasking the woman she was deep down, and then with conquering her heart, that he'd failed to grasp the significance of her doubts about whether she deserved or was destined to achieve a happy future. For him, loving Marguerite and being loved in return automatically meant they would forge a future together. When faced with their imminent deaths, he'd finally insisted on declaring his love for her, and she'd finally admitted her love for him in return… because it was the end, and neither of them had thought there would be a future beyond that cave.

Since then, while he'd been looking to the future, she'd still been bracing herself for the end. Yes, she was still skittish about their relationship, but while she'd accepted his love, she'd never shared his assurance about their future.

And in his ignorance he'd let her go on living that way, moment by moment and day by day.

How had he missed this when Ned had seen it so clearly?

Mentally cursing his ineptness, he clenched his jaw as he reviewed his tactics and realized he'd gone about the next step of his courtship all wrong. Clearly, he shouldn't have worried about scaring her away with the weight of his hopes and plans for their future; he should have shared it all with her, shown her that he believed in their future as much as he believed in their love. He should have shared his dreams, given her his strength, his confidence, until she could believe in their future as she'd learned to believe in his unconditional love.

What an idiot he'd been! Was it too late? No, it couldn't be! He had to believe that she could sense his presence, even in her catatonic state. She was still limp in his arms, barely alive – but she _was_ alive. He wouldn't give up on her, not now, not ever!

"Marguerite," he said softly. "What can I do to help you believe that there's nothing that can separate us? You and I are meant to be together, my love."

Despite his firmly reassuring tone and his gentle touch, there was no responsive flutter of her lashes, no catch in her shallow breathing, no hint of faint color on her cheeks to show that she'd heard him even on a subconscious level. _No! It can't end like this!_ If she couldn't or wouldn't hear him, what chance did she have? The Plateau now had a good future thanks to her, why couldn't she have the same?


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: _The final battle for the future of the Plateau has begun; the Protector and the Chosen One are determined to win once and for all, but at what price?_

Disclaimer & Author Note: _See Part I_.

_**The Final Battle, Part II **_

_**Wherein there is a battle for Marguerite's future…**_

When Marguerite didn't respond to Roxton's heartfelt declaration, Challenger shifted restlessly beside them. "More! Tell her more!" he hissed. "Assure her that you are alive and well!"

"Maybe louder?" Ned suggested. "And give her more details about the future you envision."

"Yeah," Veronica agreed, although no one – including herself – was sure which advice she was endorsing.

The hunter scowled. Obviously he was going to need some privacy for this. "Hold on, my love," he whispered, and tried to rise. He'd forgotten his still battered condition, though, and when his strength failed him, he lifted his head and sent his friends a look of appeal.

Ned released Veronica so he could bend down and lend a hand. Challenger rose, too, stiffly, and together they helped John stand with Marguerite still cradled in his arms. Once the nobleman was steady on his feet, he shook the other men off and limped slowly away with his precious armful. "Give us some time," he said gruffly when he heard footsteps following along behind him. He glanced over his shoulder at their anxious friends and forced himself to speak patiently. "I appreciate your suggestions, but I have a lot to say to her, and interruptions won't help. Make her something warm to eat. Maybe some tea."

Ned's lips curved upward. "Don't you mean coffee?" He wrapped an arm around Veronica's waist again, and they watched Roxton approach the bend on the balcony with his burden, each step a visible effort… but determination in every step as well.

Veronica took another step after him. "Do you want me to…?" she gestured with the Trion.

"No, I think she needs something else right now," Roxton replied. "I'll call you, though, if… if…" No, he couldn't fail, wouldn't even think it.

"Right," she nodded. "I'll be in the kitchen." She watched him limp out of sight, then turned her anxious gaze to Challenger and Ned.

The journalist smiled reassuringly. "If anyone can reach her, it'll be Roxton. Come on, let's see what's in the cupboard."

"Something warm sounds good to me, too. I'm getting too old for all this folderol," Challenger grumbled, turning toward his lab. "Call me when dinner's ready… or when Marguerite wakes up. I'm going to take some readings, record the residual energy levels…"

Veronica sighed and cast another troubled look after Roxton as Ned tugged her toward the kitchen. Time for some positive thinking, as the hunter had suggested. _When_ Marguerite awoke, not _if_ she awoke but _when_, she would need healthy physical sustenance. "I don't have much in the pantry right now. I was going to hunt tomorrow. Do you think she might eat some raptor broth?"

The blond American grimaced. "Not even on her best days. But she always likes a nice omelet."

"That's a good idea. We still have enough eggs to do that."

Out on the balcony, Lord Roxton found Marguerite's favorite place to curl up with a book or her sewing, and carefully lowered himself onto the cushioned bamboo seat, mindful of his damaged body as he gently eased her onto his lap. He cradled her head on his less-injured shoulder and cupped her cheek with one hand. She was so cold!

According to Veronica, Marguerite thought all three men were dead. His first order of business, then, was to assure her that their family was intact. "Come on, darling, come back to me," he coaxed softly, resting his chin against the top her head for a moment, then brushing his lips against her dark hair before he continued. "Hordred failed to separate us by killing me, and George and Neddy-boy are home, too. Poor George is looking a bit the worse for wear – actually, we all are. But all three of us are alive. George and Ned had already rescued me before you two women worked your magic. We were in pretty bad shape, some fairly serious injuries, until we were bathed in that light. It helped us, healed the worst of our wounds. Challenger talked about the unexpected healing properties all the way home, only to find that Veronica was using the Trion on you. He'll probably spend days having her heal injured animals so he can test its strengths and weaknesses… I don't care how it works. I'm just thankful it was able to keep you breathing long enough for us to get home again."

He brushed his lips over the top of her head again, steadying his voice before he continued, "You can't leave us, my love. We're all home safe and sound again because of you and Veronica. She says you saved the world, not just the plateau. But it won't mean anything to me unless you come back too. I need you here with me." He watched her hopefully for a long moment before he coaxed quietly, "Marguerite?"

When she still lay unresponsive in his arms, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and went on talking to her, clinging to his flickering belief that she would respond any second now. "I'll let Ned or George tell you how they managed to elude Hordred's men, since I wasn't there to see it. Neddy-boy says it was due to Challenger's quick thinking, but for once George is playing down his own brilliance. Actually, you'll be able to read all about it for yourself in Ned's newest journal if you'll just open those beautiful eyes of yours and decide to stay with us. Suffice it to say, I was delighted when the two of them showed up at the bluff where I was being held."

He told her how Challenger and Ned had staged his rescue, outsmarting the dozen guards left watching over the Chosen One's mate. "It must have been before Hordred issued his orders to kill me, because none of them had done more than…" he hesitated, and decided he shouldn't mention how they'd tortured him with numerous cuts from their knives and swords, with painful blows from fists and feet, and with taunts that they'd be killing him just as soon as they didn't need the Chosen One any longer. He'd been furious at their duplicity and manipulation of his lady when they'd revealed that they were only waiting to end his life because they didn't know if she could sense his demise and turn on them. And when they laughed and told him that as soon she'd helped them get rid of the Protector, Hordred would order the death of Marguerite as well as himself, he'd been frantic with worry for her safety. Up until then he'd at least had the hope that she might survive the day.

How he'd prayed that she wouldn't fall for their lies! How he'd wished he'd discussed this scenario with her instead of avoiding the topic! He'd been tormented by the slim chance that she would give in to them in a misguided effort to save his life, although he'd staunchly told his captors that his lady would never betray Veronica. That bit of bold defiance had earned him a couple of particularly harsh torture sessions, one that might have precipitously ended his life regardless of Hordred's orders, if not for the timely intervention of Ned and George.

No, he shouldn't tell her any of that. Not now.

Instead he told her how the three of them had tended one another's wounds, rushing through the first aid to prevent the blood from drawing raptors. He joked about their frustration and impatience over the fact that their injuries were serious enough to delay their rapid return to the treehouse. They'd barely been en route when Veronica's energy burst had appeared, spreading so quickly that they'd no sooner recognized it than it had engulfed them. He related their awe at how the aura had bathed them with fresh strength, healing the worst of the damage they'd each sustained that day. He chuckled as he told her how Challenger had tried to collect a sample for future study, but had quickly, if reluctantly, given up the effort when reminded that the men needed to hurry home. He didn't reveal that although they'd each been partially healed, they were still hurting enough that it had been an arduous journey.

His voice sank to a hesitant whisper when he shared their trepidation upon nearing the treehouse and finding the signs that a terrible battle had been waged here – the blood and the myriad of broken weapons littering Veronica's garden, the trampled jungle undergrowth surrounding the treehouse, the burn marks on tree trunks and other foliage where flaming arrows had rebounded off the invisible barrier, the dozens upon dozens of ash piles they'd found as they neared the perimeter. They'd been filled with anxiety as they finally rode the elevator up toward the stillness above where there was no sign of either woman keeping watch for them. "Oh, my love, I couldn't have born it if I hadn't found you here!" he groaned. "If you would only wake up and talk to me, we could count this a good day."

All the while he spoke he caressed her, stroking her arms, her back, her side, his fingers tracing then entwining with hers. He scattered light kisses over her face between phrases, and, when he ran out of things to tell her, finally kissed her lips. She wasn't responding to his assurances that the men were safely home. What if she really was beyond hearing him? What if he really was too late? "Marguerite," he pleaded. "Come on, Darling. Open those beautiful eyes. Tell me to quit disturbing your rest. Marry me so we can spend the rest of our lives together."

Had her breath just caught? Was that a bit of pink stealing into her pale cheeks? He couldn't be certain with only the fading light of dusk to see by. But it was the first hint he'd seen of any response at all. What had he said that was different? _Marry me, so we can spend the rest of our lives together._ Was that it? Could it be that simple, just talking about what he'd been so hesitant to mention for fear of driving her away?

Had he ever said the word "marriage" aloud to her before? No, he didn't think he had. He'd pictured them as husband and wife when he'd talked to her about their future, but he hadn't actually proposed yet. He hadn't wanted to press her for more of a commitment when it had taken being at death's door to get her to admit she loved him. Even tonight he'd hesitated, full of doubt that there was anything he could say that would give her a reason to believe, to hope, in a future with him.

The past year had been fraught with one nerve-wracking incident after another. Ever since the revelation of Marguerite's true reason for financing Challenger's expedition and the subsequent loss of the Ouroboros and her chance to obtain her birth certificate, they'd been plunged into successive crisis situations that threatened to tear apart the family they'd built here. They'd suspected this for a while now, but thanks to the things Hordred's men had said while taunting him, he now knew that the dark line had orchestrated events in her life. They'd thrown everything from demon possession to ex-wives and revelations about her true identity at her in an effort to force the Chosen One into believing that her only hope for the future was to turn to their side. Hordred had deliberately played on her fears that her family and the love she'd found here couldn't last. It was no wonder Marguerite believed she'd lost him the moment she'd sided with the Protector. They'd done quite a job on her.

The only thing they hadn't counted on was that Marguerite Krux might act selflessly.

She deserved so much better than what life had given her, than what had been allowed her by the forces manipulating her, and he'd meant to change that for her by fulfilling all her dreams and giving her a secure future filled with his loving her.

But to give her that future, he needed to help her visualize that future with him, a future that she couldn't envision for herself. He had to give her the hope that such happiness could really be hers despite everything life had taught her to believe about herself, and despite the exploitation of her insecurity by the dark line.

He bent his head and pressed his lips to hers again for another tender kiss, filled with renewed anticipation. Then he breathed softly against her mouth, "I love you, Marguerite. Be mine forever. Marry me. First thing tomorrow morning let's ask the Zanga shaman to marry us. We'll have so much fun together, being married. We'll travel together, and you'll hunt with me and I'll dig pretty rocks from the ground with you, and we'll read books together by firelight. We'll fight and we'll make up and we'll scandalize society with how much in love a husband and wife can be. We'll make beautiful, green-eyed baby girls with long curly dark hair like their mama, and handsome irascible baby boys who'll get into all sorts of mischief like their papa did. We'll raise our children to be not-quite proper young adults. They'll grow up and have babies of their own. We'll grow old and grey together and bounce our grandchildren on our knees between our adventuring. What do you say, my love? Marry me and be Lady Roxton forever?"

Her dark lashes fluttered just a little on her cheeks.

She was hearing him! Why the devil had he shied away from mentioned marriage to her before this? How could he not have realized that she needed to know he wanted that for their future, that he believed they could have it all together no matter where they were?

Encouraged, John continued to paint a word picture of their marriage and subsequent life together. "It'll be the wedding of the year, my love. Ned will be my best man, Veronica will be your maid of honor, and Challenger will give the beautiful bride away. It'll be a bright sunny day, not a cloud in the sky, and we'll bring along the phonograph and play your favorite record as George walks you down the aisle toward me. The Zanga will have flowers wrapped around every post and pole in the village, and you'll be wearing your heart locket and the loveliest dress I've ever seen – not that it'll match your beauty in my eyes."

He could definitely feel a difference in her body temperature, he was sure of it! Heart pounding, he went on elaborating for her: "Jarl and Assai's little girl can be your flower girl, and after our vows we'll honeymoon at Lizard city. Tribune owes us a couple favors, and he's always liked you. He'll treat us like royalty. We'll sleep on a real bed, Marguerite, and spend hours soaking in their Roman baths between making love morning, noon and night." This time there was no doubt; the pulse point at the base of her neck showed an increased heart rate, and there were faint spots of color on both cheekbones. He was reaching her! "When we come home, we'll move my things to your room because it's bigger, and my boots will be right beside yours every night when we go to sleep and every morning we'll wake up in each other's arms. As much as we love one another, it won't be long before you'll be making me into a proud papa as well as a happy husband."

Marguerite's eyes opened briefly before her lashes fluttered down onto her porcelain cheeks again. It was only a second, but it was the first proof of actual consciousness.

Rejoicing, he resolutely continued, "We'll name our first daughter after your friend Adrianne, and our first boy William, you know, after my brother. Neddy-boy and Veronica can be their godparents. And when this treehouse starts getting a little crowded, what with little Roxton and Malone tykes running all over the place, we'll build a second treehouse in that big old tree just west of here, and link them with suspended bridges. Of course, Challenger will have to plan a bigger windmill to power an expanded electric fence, and we'll need to rig a whole new water system to supply both treehouses. But the old boy will love making it all work, almost as much as I'll love living the rest of our lives together."

He kissed her again, and this time her lips parted beneath his. He closed his eyes in relief and deepened the kiss. And when he opened his eyes again, she was staring up at him.

"Roxton?" she breathed. "Are you real?"

She was awake! But she sounded so weak and still looked so pale that he knew she wasn't out of the woods yet. "Yes, my love, I'm real."

"Are we d-dead? Y-you aren't d-damned, you should g-go to heaven, but I c-couldn't…" She paused to draw a hesitant, tremulous breath. "I w-wouldn't b-be with you if we're d-dead…" This wasn't right… How could he be here?

"We're not dead, my love", he assured her, and made a mental note that he'd have to work harder at convincing her that her soul wasn't damned. "We're both very much alive." And he intended to keep it that way, whatever it took to convince her to not to give up.

She lifted a trembling hand to touch his whiskered cheek. "Alive," she repeated wistfully, and her lashes started to droop over her eyes again.

Afraid she was too near to drifting away from him, he lightly shook her to regain her attention. "Absolutely. And you haven't answered my question. Will you marry me?" It worked; she opened her eyes again, groggily, but a trifle more aware than before.

"Are you crazy? P-People try to kill you because of me." Her eyes were frightened, and one hand gripped his arm, albeit both her voice and grip were feeble.

He chuckled and gave her a lopsided grin. "Don't flatter yourself, darling. People were trying to kill me long before I met you."

She blinked.

"The thing is," he added casually, "You're my reason for living. So marry me. We'll fight all the bad guys together. What do you say?"

She studied him for a long moment, doubtfully. "I'm dreaming."

"Nope. You're awake."

She stiffened suddenly, alarmed. "If this is real – Hordred? the Plateau?"

He hugged her tenderly. "Safe. Veronica thinks you fed her enough power to keep it safe for a number of generations, maybe even forever. That means you don't need to worry about our children going through anything like what we've gone through today." He had to convince her that they had a future together, had to ensure that she too could see their prospects for being happy, had to make her _want_ to stay alive…

"Ch-children?"

She was so adorably confused that he couldn't resist kissing her again. By the time he took a final tug on her lower lip, her skin was flushed a healthier pink, and he could feel her breathing regularly again – well, not quite regularly, but he was entirely satisfied with the reason that her breath was coming somewhat raggedly. "We're going to live happily ever after, my love."

His simple declaration, so confident, so full of devotion, brought tears to her eyes. She looked up at him, longing to believe, but afraid to trust in the vision he was offering, and more than a little convinced she was dreaming all of this as she was dying.

"So will you marry me, Marguerite?" he asked again, the gleam in his dark green eyes drawing a look of wonder from her that made his stomach clench with regret. How long ago had it been that she'd marveled when he'd said he'd be there for her forever? Malone was so right; a happy future had been a foreign concept to her, a fairy tale. It shouldn't have taken a crisis for him to see that she needed this. He had to make it real for her. He had to help her to believe. "Be my wife, not just my lover and best friend. I'm not talking about some vague day in the future when we might maybe find a way off this Plateau. Right here and now, from now on and forever, be my wife. Be the mother of my children. Marry me, Marguerite."

She stared up at him, wishing her mind wasn't so hazy. This had to be real, didn't it? Because she'd only allowed herself to daydream about marrying him once. After he'd discovered that lapse of judgment on her part, he'd teased her – once. Only once. And he'd never again brought up the topic of marriage. His silence had convinced her that even the eternally optimistic Lord Roxton knew there was no happily-ever-after in store for the likes of Marguerite Krux, so she'd never again permitted herself to indulge in such nonsensical ideas. But the things he'd just said, and the way he'd said them, had her heart hammering as if it were really happening. "Forever?" she repeated wistfully.

"Yes, forever. You know I'm right for you," he teased, reminding her of what she'd blurted out as they fled from the cursed German village. "And you know I promised I wouldn't let you fall, promised you more than once that I would always be here to keep you in line, to keep you safe. I keep my promises, Marguerite. You know I do. Of course, you've kept me safe as often as I've protected you, and you've saved me from myself far too many times to count. You and I belong together. It's fate. It's meant to be. That's why we've always beat the odds in staying alive here. It's why there are so many connections between us – both of us being at Avebury as children, our work in the war, both of us claiming the name Parsifal in all that business with the iridium, both of us drawn here to the Plateau to live together, to get to know one another, to rescue one another from our pasts… to build a future together. You and I are tied together, Marguerite. I love you with all my heart. Everything I am, everything I own, my every thought and emotion belongs to you. Our future is together. So marry me. Please."

A tear slid down her cheek. She reached up again to touch his face, laying her palm against his cheek, feeling the prickle of his unshaven bristles against her tender skin. This wasn't a dream, and she wasn't hallucinating. He was real, he was alive, and he was promising her forever. He was so sure, so warm, his breath fanning her face as he smiled tenderly down at her. He was alive. This was real. And he wanted to marry her. Marry. Her. "John…"

He turned his head and kissed her palm. "Yes, my love?"

"Everything hurts," she whispered, then buried her face against his shoulder with a choked back sob, her hand sliding down to clutch a fistful of his shirt. "I'm not feeling so well."

She was choosing to live! He sent a mental prayer of thanksgiving upward to the Deity who had blessed him with this woman. Then he drew her close and rocked her gently, his actions at odds with his next words: "Serves you right if it hurts," he chided brusquely. "What did you expect when you tried to kill yourself? All that power you gave to Veronica – not that it wasn't bloody marvelous, but if you ever do such a thing again, I'll kill you myself!"

Her small fist thumped his chest. "Oh shut up and hold me!"

He grinned, but pressed, "I mean it, Marguerite. I know I said forever, and I intend to abide by that as much as it's within my power to do so, but none of us lives eternally. If and when, God forbid anytime in the near future, we are separated from one another, I need to know that you'll do your best to have a good life. I need you to give me your word, Marguerite."

She shook her head, face pressed to his chest. "I can't, John, I can't. I tried to pretend that I didn't need you when Death had you, but I can't be without you. I really can't."

"Can't!" he scoffed. She was shaking, and he could feel her tears soaking through his shirt. "You can do anything you set your mind to, Marguerite Krux, and everyone knows it! You're the strongest, bravest woman I've ever known. And you'll have our children to look after. What kind of example would you be setting for them if you curled up and quit living just because I –" She stiffened and flinched away, and he chose his words with care. "…just because I wasn't with you? Come on, Marguerite, promise me that you won't give up again. _Promise_."

She knew that tone. He wasn't going to stop pestering her until she gave in. Besides… if there were children… It was an absurd thought, of course, totally out of the question. But even if it was only hypothetical, she couldn't, wouldn't deprive children of their mother if they'd already lost their father. Very sneaky, and entirely unfair of him, to toss that into the mix. She lifted her head, gave a sulky sniff, and glared at him. "Fine. I promise," she snapped.

"That's my girl." He beamed down at her with relieved approval. "Now, I think Veronica may be able to help with some of that pain of yours, and to judge by the scent wafting past us on the breeze, dinner may be ready, too. Everyone's worried about you, you know. Shall we go in now and reassure them that everything's going to be okay?" He ran one hand over her dark curls and smiled at her. "We should let them know we have a wedding to plan, eh?"

"Hey, I didn't say yes!"

"Not yet, but you will," he replied smugly, then ruined the effect by adding anxiously, "Won't you?"

The sudden revelation of his vulnerability melted her heart. "Of course, John. Eventually," she added with a mischievous smile of her own.

He heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Marguerite." And he kissed her again.

On the other side of the wall, where they'd prepared dinner with hushed movements as they listened to the narrative Roxton designed to inspire his lady to come back to him, Ned and Veronica exchanged grins. "Do you think they'll make it inside for dinner before the omelets are cold?" he asked in a half-whisper.

"Let's just cover everything and leave it at the fireside," she whispered back. "I don't think he'll wait long to bring her in so I can use the Trion on her." She moved the meal into a large bowl and covered it with a towel, and Ned lifted it onto the grill by the fire to keep it warm until the older couple remembered to come and eat.

She opened the cooler and drew out the juice carafe, adding it to the bread already on the tray to carry to the table, but Ned caught her hand and turned her back into his arms before she could take the tray from the counter. "In case I haven't told you yet," he said seriously, "I'm very proud of you. You were terrific today. You're such an amazing lady… and I'm an incredibly lucky man."

She blushed and her smile dimpled as she slid her arms around his waist. "I'm proud of you, too. You were pretty terrific today yourself. You really have a knack for noticing things about other people, Ned. I'm glad you were here, or we might not have known what she needed. You're a very special man, Edward T. Malone."

Ned blushed as pink as Veronica, and his gaze shifted to her full red lips. But just as his head started to lower toward hers, Challenger came into the kitchen area, almost skipping in his excitement. "You should see the power readings! What a marvel!" he enthused. "Especially at the point of convergence, over there where your mother painted the arrows! Oh good, dinner is ready. Is Marguerite… is she well enough to join us?" he asked, pausing and speaking in a tone that he'd abruptly modulated to a slightly lower volume.

From beyond the wall, Roxton's voice answered, "Yes, she's fine, and we're coming to join you."

"Oh good!" the scientist exclaimed, beaming with pleasure. Then he belatedly noticed the flushed faces of the younger couple. "And what are two so red-faced about? It's not that hot at the oven, is it? Maybe I need to readjust the settings…" He stepped over to the oven he'd jury-rigged two years ago, and bent anxiously over it. "Odd. There doesn't seem to be an excess of heat escaping," he frowned.

Ned and Veronica's blushes deepened as they heard knowing chuckles from the balcony.

"Perhaps I need to check it when it's in operation. Call me tomorrow before you start dinner, if you don't mind, Veronica."

"Okay," she agreed, beginning to be amused at his continued obliviousness. She exchanged grins with the handsome American and, arm in arm, they followed Challenger as he scooped up the tray and carried it out to the Great Room.

They were almost finished setting the table when Roxton and Marguerite stepped in off the balcony. The still-limping hunter was supporting her, bearing most of her weight with an arm around her slim waist. Her skin was too pale, her eyes weren't quite focused, and she looked like she barely had the strength to hold up her own head, but she was on her feet.

"Bring her over here, Roxton," Veronica directed, stepping into the floor space between the painted arrows.

"Oh, excellent. I can monitor the energy output," Challenger's eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas morning, and he reached for the electrometer he'd built to trace the energy lines around the plateau.

"I'm fine," Marguerite protested, the faint pink tinge of her cheeks deepening at the unexpected attention.

But Roxton guided her to the blonde's side anyway. "You're hurting, and she can help."

Veronica nodded and placed her hands on her friend's shoulders to regard her sternly. "You scared the living daylights out of me, Marguerite. Let me help. Please?"

Flustered, and as yet not entirely convinced that she wasn't imagining everything, the brunette nodded. "I'm sorry, Veronica," she whispered.

"Never mind. Everything's okay now. Stand still."

"Wait! Wait!" Challenger rushed over and extended his gadget between the two women. "Okay, you can start now."

"Thanks, George," the women replied in unison, and exchanged smiles.

Veronica, her Trion cupped in her palm, laid her hand gently on Marguerite's chest above her heart, and let the power flow from the Plateau to her own heart and through to her best friend. From the corner of her eye she saw Roxton blink in surprise as he felt it, too; he was still steadying his lady, and apparently the influx of energy passed to him through his contact with her. The younger woman lofted a brow at him as she wondered whether it was passing purely because the couple was touching, or whether it was because of their emotions for one another. Whatever its cause, Marguerite seemed unaware of the additional effect, and when the hunter gave a discreet shake of his head, Veronica didn't mention it.

It could wait. It was enough to see John's pain-tensed posture ease. Besides, they didn't need to set George off on another quest for understanding; he was excited enough as it was.

This time the energy infusion was not rebuffed, but was absorbed into the Chosen One's fragile body, and almost instantly they could all tell that it was strengthening her dangerously weakened internal organs, blood vessels, muscles and bones. Within minutes her unnatural pallor was replaced with her usual soft peach glow, and her gaze sharpened. The rebuilding of her health also lifted the haze from her mind, and she glanced down at the strong sun-bronzed forearm crossing her midriff before she lofted an incredulous brow at her friend.

The blonde understood and nodded. Then she smiled broadly as she felt another jump in the energy passing through the Trion. Marguerite was actively participating now, hastening her own recovery in light of Veronica's confirmation that John was alive.

She wasn't dreaming! He was standing right behind her, his arms wrapped around her, somehow, beyond all hope or expectation, living and well! Marguerite's whole posture straightened as she rapidly gained strength, and her silver-green eyes glowed with wonder and delight.

Roxton grunted as he, too, felt the increased healing power flow between himself and his lady.

"Fantastic!" Challenger breathed, staring in amazement at his electrometer as the needle surged around the dial. "I wonder if you could cure my arthritis…"

Veronica reached out to grasp Marguerite's hand as she shifted the Trion so it touched George's shoulder instead. He flinched, then his blue eyes widened as he felt the same tingling he'd experienced in the jungle when the aura had washed over them. It spread throughout his body, warming him, then localized in the bone joints that had been his own personal cross to bear for longer than he cared to recall. Intrigued, he turned the electrometer toward himself. "Look at that! Look at that!" he exclaimed in wonder. "There must be a way that science could harness this power to heal…"

Veronica and Marguerite exchanged smiles, and then stepped apart as the Protector released the scientist - until Marguerite caught sight of Ned, and reached for Veronica's hand again. The blonde arched an inquiring brow at her, then followed her pointed gaze and grimaced. How could she have neglected Ned? Together the women aimed a healing flow of energy at the American, who jerked in surprise before he realized what they were doing, then smiled in appreciation at the rapid easing of his aches and pains. "Thanks!" he said heartily, delighted.

Apparently Marguerite had been aware of the power passing through her to John, because she didn't direct Veronica toward him when they'd finished helping Ned. Veronica held onto her hand long enough to ascertain that their joint efforts hadn't been detrimental to the brunette, then released her again.

Roxton turned his lady and studied her for a long moment, until he too was satisfied that she was, if not wholly well, at least mended enough that her hand was perfectly steady when she raised it to rest her palm against his cheek. "Hello," she said softly.

"Hello yourself," he replied just as tenderly, and drew her into a gentle embrace. "Welcome back, Darling."

Ned wrapped Veronica in his arms and subjected her to a much heartier hug than the cautious hunter was offering to Marguerite. "Well done, Miss Layton; very well done," he praised.

Veronica blushed charmingly and opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by George's exclamations as he flexed a shoulder that moved freely for the first time in several years.

"Not a bit of pain, and good heavens, will you look at this! I haven't had this range of movement since I partook of the fountain of youth! This could be an amazing boon to the world…" He studied the power register as he thoughtfully turned away toward his lab. "I really must study this phenomenon more closely."

Ned's hand closed on his upper arm and turned him back toward the dinner table. "Save the world tomorrow, Challenger. Let's have dinner now."

"What?" George looked up, startled. "Oh yes, of course. Yes, tomorrow will be time enough. We should savor today's victory before we consider waging war on an altogether different front," he conceded, although he cast a longing look back over his shoulder toward his lab.

Laughing and agreeing, the other three joined them at the table. "I'm definitely ready to eat," Roxton said, reaching to take the covers from the serving dishes. "Mmm, perfect! Omelets and fresh toasted bread. I could smell them from the balcony."

Marguerite glanced around the table, marveling at the sight of the three men gathered with them, all home safe and relatively sound. Each of them still bore the evidence of today's life-threatening struggles, but despite torn and blood-stained clothing, they were alive and well. She met Veronica's contented gaze with a peaceful smile. "Yes, everything looks perfect."

Veronica nodded in satisfaction. "Yes, it does. Absolutely perfect."

"Actually," George corrected in surprise, "Along with the obvious laundry and mending and repairs to the garden, there's quite a bit of debris we'll need to clean away. We should collect the ash and add it to the compost for next season's garden…"

After grinning at one another, the others humored Challenger by discussing the various chores that would soon need attending.

Almost finished clearing his plate, Roxton glanced up during a lull in the conversation and asked, "Say, did I mention yet that Marguerite's going to marry me?"

With a completely straight face, Ned replied, "You don't say?"

Outraged and blushing hotly, the brunette punched the nobleman's arm. "I did not say I would marry you, Lord Roxton!"

Ignoring her protest, Challenger asked, "When's the wedding?" as he served himself another healthy quantity of omelet.

Marguerite glared at him. "I haven't said I'd marry him," she repeated crossly.

"As soon as we can get the shaman to agree to a date," Roxton answered, green eyes dancing. "And she'd like you to give her away, George."

That got the scientist's full attention. Caught off guard, his fork stopped half way to his mouth, and he stared first at Roxton, and then at Marguerite. "No." He blinked suddenly teary eyes. "Really?"

Her indignation vanished in the face of his unexpectedly touched reaction, and she sighed in resignation. "Actually… Yes, really."

Challenger's face crinkled into a broad smile, clearly delighted. "I'd be honored."

"No, _I_ would be honored," she said simply.

He beamed. "Well then, of course… So we're off to the Zanga village tomorrow, then?"

"Sounds good to me," Veronica agreed, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"You're the maid of honor," Roxton informed her casually, pleased with the direction of their conversation. "So better bring along that blue gown in case the shaman can marry us right away. Is there anything in your parent's trunks that would serve as a wedding gown for Marguerite? And a nice suit for Malone here so he can play at being my best man?"

"Now wait just a minute here!" Marguerite demanded. She'd tensed again as soon as Challenger mentioned the next day, and by now she was scowling.

"Best man? Thanks." Ned accepted the invitation with an elated grin. "But what about a ring?" he asked as he followed Challenger's example and dished up a second plateful for himself, too.

"Oh, I've had the ring for ages," was his lordship's blithe response.

"What? What ring? I haven't seen any ring!" Marguerite sat up straighter and stared at Roxton, her pique momentarily forgotten under his astounding assertion.

"How'd you manage to keep Marguerite from finding it?" Veronica asked, giggling at her friend's astonishment.

"I took a lesson from the master – or, in this case, the mistress," he inclined his head toward his bemused fiancé. "I hid it in plain sight."

"Well, if you've got the ring, then there's no reason to wait, is there?" grinned the reporter, very much enjoying their game.

"I haven't said yes," Marguerite inserted automatically, narrowed eyes never leaving her handsome suitor as she immediately added, "When and where did you get a wedding ring for me?"

The nobleman grinned at her, but didn't answer.

"Lord Roxton, I'm not saying yes until you tell me about this ring." She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him.

"Finish your dinner before it gets cold," he advised kindly. "I'm not going to give you any details about your ring until you say yes."

"Sounds reasonable to me," Malone put in, tongue in cheek. "Otherwise you'll never be certain whether she married you because she loved you or because she wanted the ring."

"That might be logical if we were talking about some society debutante only looking for a title and an estate, but it hardly applies here," Challenger disagreed. "We already know Marguerite loves Roxton more than she values wealth, or, in this case, gemstones."

Marguerite blinked, and color flooded her face again as she saw everyone nod.

"Yes, but she's never admitted it, at least not to the rest of us," Veronica decided to throw in her penny's worth, her blue eyes dancing with mirth at the way they were teasing Marguerite.

"Well I for one would like to hear her say so," her fiancé shrugged.

"Seems only fair," Ned agreed.

"Of course she'll say so. Why wouldn't she?" Challenger frowned, not quite catching on.

"Yeah, why?" Veronica smirked.

In the ensuing silence, Marguerite glared back and forth between the four of them while they all looked at her. After a very long moment, she threw up her hands and huffed, "Fine. I admit it. I love Roxton more than I care about jewels – or anything else, for that matter!"

Roxton smiled warmly at her as the others laughed at her reluctant admission. "There now, was that so hard? Here, eat your omelet." He offered her a forkful of eggs from her plate.

"You owe me, Lord Roxton," she hissed with a scowl, never a gracious loser, and took the fork away from him.

"Oh, I'm quite willing to make it up to you, love, never fear," he drawled, waggling his brows and looking at her with such open intent that it made her blush all over again.

She quickly shoveled in the mouthful of egg.

"I do have one dress that would be lovely on you, Marguerite," Veronica said, taking pity on her. "We could have a look after dinner."

"And I know just what I'll say when I give my speech."

The four younger adults froze and focused on the ginger-haired scientist. "Speech?" Roxton asked in a carefully neutral tone.

"Yes, of course. Naturally I'll give the marriage charge once I've walked Marguerite down the aisle. After all, you can hardly expect the Zanga shaman, fine man that he is, to provide you with proper Christian guidance when he joins you. I believe I am the best qualified individual available to discharge that responsibility." He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach in satisfaction. "Marvelous meal, Veronica. And a most pleasant dinner, altogether. If we're going to be away for a few days while John and Marguerite are married, I believe I'd best get back to my lab now. Science waits for no man. So much to learn, so little time…"

He rose and started away, collecting his electrometer from a nearby shelf and already muttering to himself as he made calculations.

Marguerite glared at Roxton. "Now see what you've done, encouraging him like that! I refuse to be rushed into a marriage when I haven't even said yes!" She held up a warning finger at the younger couple. "No! I did _not_ say yes! I said 'eventually'! That does not mean that we go to the Zanga village tomorrow! And you!" Now her finger wagged at Roxton. "You can't really believe I'd say yes just to see a ring!"

Somewhat abashed, he shook his head. "That was just spur of the moment teasing, Marguerite – well, not the part about the ring. I do have a ring for you. I meant we were teasing about the idea of you agreeing to marry me just so you could get the ring."

Before this could disintegrate into the argument she could see Marguerite was spoiling for, Veronica arched one brow and suggested, "You wouldn't have to sneak back and forth at night. You could share one room all the time."

Marguerite and Roxton's jaws both dropped, and he turned as beet red as she.

"What, you thought we didn't know?" Ned snickered. "The walls around here aren't exactly solid." It wasn't often that that anything silenced the dark haired couple both at once.

Marguerite's mouth snapped shut, and she turned to John. "You know that second treehouse you mentioned earlier?" she said between gritted teeth.

John cleared his throat and nodded. "I'll get right on it."

Their hostess nodded serenely, although her sky blue eyes were twinkling merrily. "Right after you make an honest woman of her, Lord Roxton. The way you two have been going at it, those little Roxtons will be crawling all over the place any time now."

Lord Roxton blinked, caught his breath, and leaned forward eagerly, startling all three of his companions. "Do you know something I don't?" His bright gaze swung to his lady.

Marguerite, who'd just been thinking that this conversation couldn't get any stranger, stared at him in stunned disbelief. "You want me to be… with child?"

He knew he was grinning like an idiot as he reached over to spread his hand across her flat abdomen. "You'll be such a terrific mother," he said softly.

Her gaze lifted from his hand on her stomach to stare at his eager expression again, her eyes even wider. "Are you daft? _Me?_"

Ned looked at Veronica and mouthed "her?" but although her eyes glimmered with answering humor, she gestured at him to keep quiet. Fortunately, the older couple had eyes only for one another.

"Of course. Don't you want to have children with me? The ones we talked about, the ones you promised to live for?" His other hand sought and found one of hers, his fingers entangling hers in a gentle caress. "I think I'd be a good father, and I think we'd make wonderful babies."

She moistened her lips, caught totally off guard by this entire topic. Their conversation on the balcony was cloudy, but based on what he was saying now, her vague memory of his earlier mention of children wasn't some dream. He'd talked about a son and a daughter, hadn't he? He couldn't really mean he wanted her to bear his children, could he? You couldn't walk away from children – or at least, a man like Lord John Richard Roxton would never walk away from his children. Children were… children were forever. _Forever! He really does want forever!_

It was suddenly all very possible and her heart soared. She could have it all, everything she'd ever dreamed in the deepest, most secret places of her heart and mind, but had never dared to truly believe in, had barely even admitted to herself until this very moment. _Beautiful green-eyed baby girls with long curly dark hair like their mama._ Now where had those words come from? Still, the idea was appealing."I hope they have your disposition, not mine."

"Is that a yes, Miss Krux?"

She hesitated, everything she'd ever known clashing with the vision he was offering. There was no question in her mind which was bound to come out on top. _Who am I kidding? Me as John's wife and mother of his children? It would never work.  
_

Witnessing Marguerite's doubt filled, panicked expression, Veronica impulsively leaned forward and reached across the table. "Marguerite."

The brunette tore her gaze from the man she loved and looked at her best friend. Only when the blonde looked pointedly down at her outstretched hand did the older woman realize Veronica was offering a gesture of support and comfort.

Veronica waited until Marguerite hesitantly took her hand. Then, holding her gaze, she spoke firmly. "He was right, out there on the balcony. You two do belong together. And even if you can't have him forever, you can have him for a little while – maybe fifty or sixty years, or even longer. That may not seem like much compared to forever, but it's a lifetime. He loves you. You love him. You both deserve to be happy. You've always been brave for the rest of us; now be brave for yourself. Don't spend any more time apart when you don't have to. Say yes."

Ned nodded and touched her shoulder as he added his own encouragement. "C'mon, Marguerite. You're good for each other. Don't let the chance pass you by. So maybe we were teasing you about getting married tomorrow, maybe that's a little too soon. But you really don't want to miss a single day of knowing that you're where you belong, where you were always meant to be. You and Roxton, you're magic together. We've all seen it for ages. Even Challenger sees it."

"What do I see?" asked the man himself, wandering back upstairs in search of the notebook he'd set down somewhere after taking notations of the readings from his electrometer.

"That Marguerite and I belong together," John replied gruffly, touched and gratified at the open support from their friends. "And that she should marry me."

"Well of course. Who in their right mind would say otherwise?" the treehouse patriarch reasoned absently. "Any two people so in love should be together. It would be a crime to waste such a blessing. Have you seen my notebook? I'm certain I had it up here with me earlier while I was making those notations about the energy readings." He looked around with a frown. "I need the numbers I jotted down…"

Marguerite pointed to the same shelf where he'd had the electrometer. "It's right there, George."

"Ah, quite right. Thank you, m'dear." He collected the errant notebook, and turned away, then paused thoughtfully and faced them again. "Ah, about your wedding. I was thinking that you should honeymoon down at the inland sea for a week or so. As I recollect, you like it there, and while you two are away Malone and I can get a start on building you a home of your own. Naturally you'll need both the privacy and the space, particularly once the babies come along."

In a slightly strangled voice, Marguerite gasped, "_You_ think I should be the mother of John's children?"

He snorted. "Well, it would hardly be proper for someone else to be their mother when you're his wife, now would it?" he asked with a hint of impatience. "What a question!"

Veronica and Ned smothered gurgles of laughter at the look on the others' faces.

Challenger looked at them enquiringly.

Helpfully, Ned offered, "She's still not sure she should be his wife."

Astounded, Challenger considered this anomaly for a brief moment. Then he slapped the notebook down on the edge of the table and pulled his chair around so he could seat himself beside the uncomfortable brunette. He gathered both her hands into his in an affectionate clasp. "My dear child," the scientist reproved. "If I may?"

Marguerite gave a watery chuckle, wondering if she was ever going to stop blushing after this incredible conversation. "As if I have any choice!"

He smiled. He knew he could be unobservant about the people around him, too wrapped up in his science. But that didn't mean he hadn't thought about these things, usually in the last hours when he was missing Jessie, or when, like now, his housemates needed a word or two of guidance from someone with a few more years under his belt. "Well, you do have a choice, you see. We're a family. My wife would be astonished to think it, but it's the truth nonetheless. We're luckier than most, because we've had the opportunity to choose the members of our family here. We didn't become a family merely because we were stranded together. We've chosen each other, time after time. But families aren't static. Families grow and change. Some leave the nest, like Arthur. Some join in, as Finn did for a time. Change can be painful, but it is usually for the best. Finn was needed in her time. And Arthur, the old goat, is doubtless somewhere where he can spend all of his time in his blessed gardens."

He looked up at her from beneath his beetled brows, and Marguerite nodded her acceptance of his words thus far. "Well, sometime in the not too distant future, young Malone here is going to propose to our Veronica. Should she choose to marry him?" He ignored both the gasp from Veronica and Ned's suddenly flaming face.

"Of course," the brunette nodded without hesitation. "She'll be a good wife for Ned."

Challenger's gaze lifted to meet Roxton's over her head, having expected just such a response. "Indeed," he said, absently patting her hand.

It took only a moment for Roxton to grasp what Challenger had just revealed. He closed his eyes for a moment, then said quietly, "Thank you, George. I'll take it from here."

The older man nodded, released Marguerite's hands, and rose. "You two come with me," he said to Ned and Veronica, circling the table to retrieve his notebook. "We need to do some planning so that when we go to the Zanga village we know exactly what we'll need. I'll have to expand the electric fence to encompass the Roxton treehouse, of course, but I've already calculated how to generate enough electricity with only a few adjustments to the windmill, and the addition of a new device I've been designing to collect solar power." He headed for the stairs, still talking,"We can complete the work in short order if the Zanga assist us in assembling the new treehouse and generators; I believe they'd be willing if I showed them a design for a better village water system, which happens to be something I've had on the drawing board for several months. We're just so busy all the time, I haven't been able to do half the things I've had in mind. But now that this nonsense with Hordred is finished, I should be able to accomplish a great deal more."

His voice faded as Veronica and Ned, giving one another shy looks, obediently rose and followed him downstairs to his lab.

Marguerite, with the uncomfortable feeling that she'd missed something important, realized she was now alone with Roxton and hastily shot to her feet, avoiding his eye. "I'll just clear the table."

He caught her hand and tugged her down onto his lap. Her response to Challenger's question about the other couple had been just what he needed to know. She hadn't said a word about Ned being a good husband or whether they loved one another or belonged together; no, uppermost in her mind was the question of being a good wife. He tucked a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head up until she had to face him. "That's what this is about? You think you wouldn't be a good wife for me?" he asked softly, his dark green eyes tender and loving.

She twisted her hands on her lap, met his gaze fleetingly, and prevaricated. "It's this mothering thing. How often have you – all of you, truth be told! – joked that I haven't a maternal bone in my body? You've seen how I am around children. I never know what to do, and I always say the wrong things… I wouldn't be a good mother."

She was avoiding the main topic, but he could see now that it was all part and parcel of the same issue; this should be dealt with, too. He'd never suspected that their teasing affected her, but in light of today's revelations about how deeply her insecurities still ran, clearly they'd not only hurt her feelings but done more serious damage. Their joking had confirmed yet more of her deeper fears about herself. "You're thinking the worst of yourself, my love. But you've always done fine with children once you've had a little time with them. You worked wonders with that snot-nosed king, and you got on fine with Gideon, too, remember? Didn't you become fast friends with that little fellow from the children's village? It'll be easier with our own children, because you'll get to know them a little at a time, as they grow. No one really knows how to be a parent before they start. I've never been a father before, just as you've never been a mother, so we'll learn together, the same way we'll learn to be husband and wife together."

She flinched, and he placed a soothing hand over her agitated, white-knuckled hands. "That's what's making you shy away, isn't it? You don't think you'll be … well, for lack of a better word, a 'good' wife."

She shrugged, clearly nervous but trying to seem untroubled. "You know me, Roxton. I've no patience for domestic things. And really, think what I'd do to your reputation, to your future in the House of Lords. I'd be off doing something that interests me instead of looking after you and your home. I'm not the submissive type. I've a terrible temper and the tongue of a harpy. I'd embarrass you before your friends and family. I know I've s-satisfied you as a lover," she ignored his smirking, whispered comment that she was understating the matter, and continued, "But as a wife, I'd … I'd disappoint you, John."

He shook his head. "Oh Marguerite, you're so hard on yourself, and so unfairly. The only thing you're right about is that I know what you're capable of. I've seen you exercise extraordinary patience over what you call domestic things. Don't you handle all of our sewing? You always do your fair share, and sometimes more, of the household chores and maintenance. You're even a passable cook, when you set your mind to it." He bent his head and kissed her cheek, the tender caress of his lips on her skin making her shiver. "And I've no doubt that you'd do wonders for my reputation if and when we ever return to England. You'd be renowned as the miracle worker who reformed the Roxton heir, settled the wild adventure seeker and saved him from his self-destructive ways. Just the fact that any woman married me would increase my credibility a hundred fold." He grinned down at her. "Marguerite, my love, I don't want or need a submissive wife, or one of those simpering society misses who are only interested in gossip and parties. I've dreamed of a wife who'll come adventuring with me and be content to make do with whatever's at hand and with whatever we might come across. I've longed for a wife who can fight at my side all day in spite of her fears, one who will make love like a tigress at the drop of a hat, give as good as she gets when life tries to slap us down, and know how to enjoy herself when there's time to play. I want a wife who will enjoy simple things with me when we're alone together, yet will also appreciate the finer things I may be able to give her. But above all else, I want and need a wife who loves me enough to do the right thing, no matter what it may cost. Now tell me, have I found the right woman?

She smiled faintly. "By a strange coincidence…"

"Well then?"

Marguerite glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. "You really hoped I was already carrying your child?"

"With all my heart."

The simple reply made her tremble. "You would really marry me… tomorrow?"

"I would marry you right this instant. I would have married you months ago, if I'd had any inkling that you might have said yes. I didn't understand until today that you shied away from the topic not because you weren't interested in marriage but because you never thought it would really happen." He gently hugged her, and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. "Being together is wonderful, but I want more than this, and I believe we can have a great marriage. I'm not going to change my mind, and I'm not going to leave you. I love you with all my heart and soul. Do you remember… did you hear what I was telling you when I was holding you on the balcony?"

She shook her head, finding it difficult to digest all that he was saying, all that was implied in his words. "Some of it, I think, but I don't remember all of it," she admitted apologetically.

He nodded. "That's okay. I don't mind saying it again, and I'll repeat it as often as it takes for you to believe it. I have every intention of growing old with you, Marguerite, and watching our children's children grow up. You and I, Marguerite, we're meant for one another. We're going to make a home together, wherever we are, and we're going to raise children together – a girl with your dark curls and beautiful eyes, who we'll name after your friend Adriane, and a boy we'll name after –"

"William," she whispered, misty eyed, knowing now the source of her image of little girls who took after her.

"Exactly. Maybe we'll have more than Adriane and William. Maybe it'll be William and Arthur, or Adriane and Abigail, or some other combination; it won't matter because we'll love each one of them no matter how many or which gender they are. Our children will be playmates with Ned and Veronica's young ones, and they'll grow up happy and safe with a mother and father who love them, and they'll find their soul mates just as you and I found one another, and they'll marry and have little ones, and we'll bounce our grandchildren on our knees and love them almost as much as we love each other. We'll grow old and gray together, and we'll have adventures, and we'll fight and worry and rejoice… together, Marguerite. We'll do it all together. So marry me. It doesn't have to be tomorrow, but I won't be whole until you're my wife, until I know I have the right to care for you forever. I love you so desperately, you see. But you knew at least that much, didn't you?" He reached up and wiped away the tears that had begun to slide down her cheeks as she listened.

"John, do you really see all of that for us?"

"I do. And I can believe enough for both of us until you've lived it for a while and can believe for yourself," he offered, and coaxed, "Only say yes, Marguerite. Be my wife. Allow me the privilege and honor of being your husband. Be Lady Marguerite Roxton."

He could see her pulse racing. Would she dare? She'd dared so much in her life…

Marguerite couldn't look away from his steady, loving gaze. This was like it had been in that cave, when he'd told her he loved her and he wanted her to admit that she loved him, too. _The future is now_, he'd said, but he hadn't meant only while they were trapped. He'd meant forever when he said those words that day. He'd meant 'forever' all along! "Yes," she whispered, clutching tightly to his hand.

And his smile spread from ear to ear. He was as thrilled as he'd been that day she'd so fearfully told him the three words he'd longed to hear. "When?"

Her grip on his hand tightened even more. "F-forever?"

"Forever," he confirmed. "Name the date of your choice, Marguerite. I'll make it happen."

She swallowed hard and buried her face against his neck. "In for a p-penny, in f-for a pound, right?"

His chuckle rumbled beneath her cheek. "Right."

"Then… whenever the shaman says."

He closed his eyes in relief and hugged his trembling lady close. She was trusting him again, trusting him with her future this time, not only with the here and now. "You won't be sorry, my love," he vowed. As he had in the cave, he kissed her with all the tenderness and passion he could convey.

And this time, she responded without hesitation or reservation. Maybe, just maybe, "happily ever after" wasn't only for children's fairy tales after all; perhaps it was possible, even for someone like herself. Lord John Roxton believed. And he loved her. And he was alive, despite the best efforts of their enemies. He was alive and he loved her. He wanted her to be his wife!

She pulled back from his embrace and met his gaze once again, her arms now linked around his broad shoulders. "Forever, John," she pledged.

He searched her face, found the newborn assurance there, and he knew he'd won. She believed! "That's my girl. Forever."

"Yes. Now," she said firmly, an excited gleam in her silver-green eyes. "About that ring…"


End file.
